Depths of Despair ✶ Theodore Nott

forty. the face behind the mask

Chaos.

     That was all James Potter knew how to describe whatever tragedy the Triwizard tournament once more would turn out to be.

     His eyes traced the crowds, the Hogwarts teachers, the ministry representatives, the foreign students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, his own son, and his body was overthrown with nausea.

     A kid laid before them, dead, and quite frankly he knew not what to do. With Lily comforting Harry, her calmness and her gentle ways working efficiently to ensure their son's sobs grew less heart wrenching, James had nothing to do than stand and simply watch. Watch the aftermath of disaster. Watch the simmering fear within each and every present pair of eyes. Watch history repeat itself.

     "My son!" Amos Diggory continued to call out, head resting against his son's unmoving chest. He appeared unable to accept the truth — to open his eyes and see what was before him. Cedric Diggory was gone, however James understood the man's endless despair. Had it been Harry or Valerie, he would surely be so deep in denial his world would, from sane eyes, be considered an illusion.

     After a while he could no longer handle the sight of the father and son, one not breathing, one hyperventilating due to grief. Blinking his eyes, James Potter looked away, meeting Lily's soft, green gaze instead. She was slowly rubbing a hand up and down Harry's back, trying to rid his mind of whatever he'd unwillingly witnessed, trying to soothe the whirlwind of confusion, of terror, of sadness, of guilt.

     However, even her features were twisted into a frown, eyes glassy with tears she seemingly refused to spill. He wished he could kneel down beside them both and embrace them, comfort them, however the feeling struck him like a thunderbolt of lighting a seconds thereafter — his stomach twisting, yet another wave of nausea washing him over.

     Something was wrong.

     Turning around, he allowed himself to discreetly observe the area: the entirety of the overgrown Quidditch pitch, the bleachers, the exits. His eyes fell upon Dumbledore who appeared oblivious to whatever James felt so strongly, the Headmaster trying his very best to do damage control — to keep his students away from Cedric, while also figuring out how to asset from Harry information of what had taken place.

     A tap on the shoulder was usually nothing to be alarmed about, however James Potter flinched and spun around within a millisecond: suddenly standing face to face with two teenagers he had no idea how they'd even managed to approach him. "Oh— Uh, Hello," he politely spoke, however took a moment to recognize their features.

     The tallest one had dark brown hair, dark eyes and a familiar set of facial features. A undoubtedly annoying nonchalance rested upon his demeanor, visible merely through the way he stood, however within his gaze concern was on display. Theodore Nott, James realized. He'd met him once before, when he was accompanying Valerie.

     His eyes automatically narrowed in suspicion, the thought of his daughter and the tall teenager before him stepping within ten feet of one another for some reason slightly agonizing.

     The second boy was also adorned dark hair, though he carried himself with less of the nonchalance, appearing more amiable. His expression as a whole was twisted with distress, and James did some logical thinking and recognized him as Kieran Lacroix — his daughter's best friend.

"Mr Potter," Nott began, voice calm and composed even though his tone was laced with a discreet directness.

Although not sure if he liked the boy, James grimaced at his formality. "Please, call me James," he asked, although appearing rather distracted — eyes falling upon Harry and Lily, the former mentioned now seated silently upon the grass, staring emptily ahead of himself.